


message for the king

by victoriaandalbert



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriaandalbert/pseuds/victoriaandalbert
Summary: That night Eliot paid Quentin a visit in his bedroom.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	message for the king

**Author's Note:**

> "That night Eliot paid Quentin a visit in his bedroom." - 'The Magician King', Lev Grossman
> 
> Or, a fluffy kissy drabble "continuation" of this chapter.
> 
> Nonsense for Cat & Lydia. ^_^
> 
> Thank you to the extraordinarily talented melleh17 on twitter for this very incredible art for this very fic! SO much how I imagined it <3

That night when Eliot had come to visit Quentin in his bedchamber, he arrived with sharp portents of traveling to the Outer Island with their witch-queen Julia. It wasn’t that Eliot didn’t like Julia; far from it, he was worried about her.  _ Had seen her throw herself on a fucking fire. _

He was equally afraid that whatever Julia was trying to summon, would hurt Quentin too.

“Please remember what I’ve told you about her,” Eliot said quietly, moving from the window, pulling a chair to the side of Quentin’s bed. “When you leave.”

Quentin pursed his lips. He knew Eliot and Janet found Julia weird, and had caught their stolen glances at one another when Julia said anything peculiar. But maybe Eliot did care about her, too.

“Thank you, I will,” Quentin said, smiling weakly. He put down the drink Eliot had brought him on his bedside. “Don’t touch it.”

Eliot chuckled. “Do you think so lowly of me?”

“No. I think far too highly of you, and know you’d never let a good drink go to waste.”

Quentin reached out and touched Eliot’s hand. He brushed his thumb over his knuckles, feeling the warmth of his skin and the cold royal rings on his fingers.

“I’m tired,” Quentin said.

Eliot made a slight move to go, but Quentin held onto his hand.

“Are you tired too?” Quentin asked.

Eliot narrowed his eyes, and then smiled warmly. “Yes, I am.”

“Probably too tired to make it to your own bedchamber, then. Castle Whitespire is massive and shit.”

Eliot kissed the hand that held his. “You might be right.”

It had been so fucking hard for Eliot to leave Quentin after months of waiting for him to wake up. And when he saw him again, at that awful and supremely  _ dull  _ Plaxco, he was ready to break Quentin free and take what he thought he had lost back in his arms.

Quentin laughed a little and gently pulled Eliot into bed with him.

“I love you, Eliot,” he said simply, but with all his heart.

A deep crimson colored Eliot’s cheeks. It felt so right, holding Quentin like this here, in his arms, in the protective walls of Castle Whitespire.

But to Quentin there was nothing safer that being in the arms of Eliot Waugh.

Eliot leaned in and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to Quentin’s lips.

“I love you too.”


End file.
